Since it was close to midnight, I took the kitty to the nearest veterinary urgent care. There, the kind and capable doctor and staff determined that the cat had likely been struck by a car, that his pelvis was fractured in two non-weight bearing locations.
Initially, the prognosis was not good. The cat's hindlimbs did not appear to be responsive. I was told that I could not make any decision regarding euthanasia. That could only be determined by the cat's owner. The vet assured me that she would do what was best. I donated a hundred dollars toward the kitty's care and headed home.
The next day, I went door to door to nearly thirty of the rural acreage properties near my home. At the fifth or sixth house, a young father answered the door and when I asked if his family owned an orange tabby cat, he told me they owned two. I did my best to give the fellow an accounting of what had transpired the night before, but he kept interupting me.
Finally, he pointed to an orange tabby cat that had wandered up and demanded, "Is the cat bigger or smaller than that one?"
"Well, I think it's bigger," I replied.
Looking triumphant, the man dismissed me with an adamant "It isn't our cat!" I talked him into taking my phone number, in case...
Soon after my fruitless door to door search, I returned to the vet clinic and asked permission to photograph the orange tabby. The snapshot was used to make fliers that I hung in the library, post office, gas stations, vet clinics, and coffee cabana. It was easy enough to use the same picture to create a "found" ad for Craig's List. While on the Internet, I submitted the snapshot and info. to the local animal shelter, too.
Still, no owner.
By this point in time, the kitty, whom I had dubbed Pumpkin, had acquired feeling in his hindlimbs and was doing remarkably well. His new, guarded prognosis, with extended cage rest, was excellent.
At the end of a week-long stay at the urgent care, Pumpkin was ready to come home. Only, there was still no home to go to. His medical bill was a thousand dollars, money I didn't have, so I negotiated a Good Samaritan rate and brought Pumpkin to our place.
Three weeks following Pumpkin's injury, the phone rang and a woman who identified herself as the owner of two orange tabby cats told me she thought I might have her cat. I had her over straightaway and sure enough, this gal identified the kitty, Mason, as hers.
It should have been a happy moment. I had, after all, been doing what I hoped someone would do for my cat. But it didn't play out that way.
Mason had been missing from his home for three weeks and his owner was just getting around to looking for her cat. From the getgo, I was uneasy with the gal. Three pieces of information heightened my worry factor: 1) Mason had been disappearing every since the family had adopted a dog six months earlier, 2) the woman was intentionally putting her cats out at night, a time when coyotes traditionally prey on pets, and 3) there was no emotional connection between the cat and his owner. Sighing, the woman had told me she was considering giving Mason to her mother.
Near the end of our brief conversation, the gal dropped a bomb. She told me her father was dying and that she and her family planned to go on vacation with her father and mother the next day.
"I suppose my father-in-law might watch Mason," she said.
"Why don't you leave him with me," I suggested. "He's doing really well here and I can charge you a small boarding fee to keep an eye on him."
At this, the woman hugged me and agreed to settle up when she returned from vacation on Saturday, May 5.
"I'm good for it," she assured me.
A week-and-a-half passed and Pumpkin Mason's strength and dexterity continued to improve. Saturday, May 5 rolled around and no one called or came to collect the orange tabby. Ditto for Sunday.
Finally, last night, while I was sitting in my Screenwriting class, my cell phone rang. After class, I picked up a message from Pumpkin Mason's male owner, the young father who had declared the injured orange tabby was definitely not his family's.
It was a strange message, but the jist of it was that I should phone his wife back to talk about Mason. The situation was perplexing, so I slept on it.
After all my chores were done this morning, I phoned Pumpkin Mason's people. In my message, I explained that my expenses to date totalled up to four-hundred-fifty dollars -- Good Sam vet bill, medications, food, litter -- and that I had not yet added board for the twenty-four days during which Pumpkin Mason had been in my care, days that included medicating Mason four times.
At the end of my message, I floated an offer.
"You mentioned that you were thinking of rehoming Mason and if so, I may be able to help."
All day long, I thought Mason's people would call me. No one did. Tonight, the man of the family phoned. He wanted to "talk."
In this fellow's eyes, I had been wrong to rescue Pumpkin Mason.
"If a cat had been injured that badly and required surgery, I would have had him euthanized on the spot," he declared.
"Your cat didn't have surgery and his prognosis for a total recovery has always been good," I replied.
"Well, your intentions were good, but you were wrong to do what you did. We are not legally obligated in any way."
It was a jaw dropping moment. All along, I had assumed that someone loved Pumpkin Mason, that someone was worried and missing their cat. I was wrong.
After a civil, if strained discussion, where I pointed out that this man had been given the opportunity to take charge of his cat's care early on -- an opportunity he delined -- the fellow agreed to pay Pumpkin Mason's expenses.
"We don't want the cat. You can have him," he said.
With those words, I learned a powerful lesson. People don't always hold the same values and this is particularly true when it comes to companion animals and livestock.
Back on April 6, the big orange tabby now named Pumpkin, somehow managed to drag himself, broken pelvis and all, from the road to the front of our barn. There, he stretched out in front of the doors and waited for our help.
I live by relatively few codes, but here's a big one: When an animal or a person asks for my help, I am ethically and morally bound to respond. Sure, there are limits -- limits which I determine. Pumpkin asked for my family's help and, right or wrong, we delivered. He's one smart cat and for now, he's ours.
"Life is short and if you're looking for extension,
you had best do well. 'Cause there's good deeds and then there's good
intentions. They are as far apart as Heaven and Hell." ~Ben
Harper
No comments:
Post a Comment